


you're a doll; you are flawless

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Niall, Crossdressing, Lingerie, M/M, Stockings, Stress Relief, Top Zayn, knickers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2013 is when Niall starts wearing stockings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a doll; you are flawless

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to start with a well-deserved thanks to my betas, of course; thanks again, [24horan](http://24horan.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Secondly, this for inspiration: [NSFW](http://the1dlookalikes.tumblr.com/post/76844860268/niall), even though the image I had during the writing looks nothing like the photo.

2013: Niall is twenty, on One Direction’s second tour, and nurturing a three-year-old crush.

He could map out the timeline. He could stick a pin in the nights where he stressed so hard his eyes watered, where he wanted to cry or run or get fucked senseless, and yet he couldn’t say why _exactly_. The only thing he knew about _those nights_ is that simply pouring himself a drink was both overwhelming and a solution to his incredibly messy thoughts. It got easier when they blended into a drunken mush.

They’d been few and far between, but too many, too hard. He needed something else. (Not drugs. No way.) But the bottle just wasn’t hitting that spot anymore.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

One night early on, he’s determined. Not to do anything useful, just to stick a fuckin’ smile on his face and get a laugh. Some of Sophia’s stockings have ended up in his washing pile. They’ve got pretty garters on them, and if Niall’s mind hadn’t been strung tight somewhere between the ground and six feet under, he could’ve worked himself into a shameless wank featuring Liam’s cheeky grin as he unpinned them, lips working over her cunt. It’s been such a long time since Niall’s given head.

Anyway, he puts on his tightest briefs – black, to match the stockings. He clips the garters on with fidgety fingers, wondering if this is too frantic to be considered a joke, if the boys will see right through him. He has to chance it, though. He’s been cooped up too long.

Two feet and a big breath away from the door, he stops to look in the mirror, and— oh. He didn’t think… He hadn’t thought he’d look like _that_.

Slowly retreating from the entrance, Niall runs a hand over his hip, past the leg of his briefs where the hair’s soft and downy, rather than coarser like around his calves. He should shave. Yeah. That’ll make this… funnier.

Without further question—like why the fire under his skin is starting to itch less as he inches into the same bath that’d failed to calm him just an hour ago, or if he’s _really_ only doing this for a laugh—Niall sinks back against the hold of the tub.

Sat on the edge of his bathtub with a new head on his razor, the minutes slip by in long, slow strokes. He finds that he has to do his calves in sections, since the blades get clogged about a third of the way up. Shaking the razor underwater seems to get the worst of it off. Gross, but whatever.

It’s strange, this process. Shave, rinse, repeat. Shave, rinse, repeat. Sometimes Niall breaks the cycle just to slide a fingertip over his newly naked skin, gentle with himself while he gets a feel for it. Somewhere along the line, Niall notices that the speed in which his hand is moving, and the gentle curving movements over his ankles and knees, has his heartbeat slowing down. He feels warmer than what can be chalked up to just the muggy bathroom, and his head is so quiet. He’s _relaxing_. He’s shaving his legs to put on some stockings, and he likes it.

He dries off, slips the ensemble back on, and is nearly knocked off his feet by the wave of ease that washes through his body. It’s overwhelming but not in the way he’d felt before. This is a soothing kind of overwhelming, like his stress has accumulated into a tight ball and then simply… vanished.

2013 is when Niall starts wearing stockings.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

That’s how Niall winds down; bath, shave, and stockings. Liam asks around because Sophia’s missing a pair, frowning with his full bottom lip poking out in confusion, and Niall shrugs unhelpfully, lies when he says he’ll keep an eye out.

There are big, squiggly question marks hanging over his routine some nights, and Niall bats them away while he watches _Friends_ , naked aside from his briefs and stockings. Eventually, he orders five more pairs (some sheer, some lacey, and some fishnets), some knickers, and a pair of high-waisted shorts. He likes how he can feel his silky-smooth skin through the fishnets, and the shorts make his waist dip in and his hips look fantastic.

It becomes a _thing_ for him; when he turns away from the boys—his best friends in the world—and in for the night, he goes straight from jeans and tee shirt to knickers and stockings. He can sit in front of the telly like that, dick around on his computer, maybe fix himself some food, and it all just feels _better_ like this. They help him get out of his head for those few precious hours before he falls asleep.

“Look’t you,” Louis coos three weeks after Niall first put on those stockings, blowing a trail of Mary Jane through his lips. “Knew you’d be happier as the tour went on. You started out a raging _dick_.”

And Niall just laughs, laughs because it’s _Louis_ , because it’s _funny_ , because he fucking loves his life and everything in it.

He doesn’t even care when his new-found stress cure follows him to the bedroom. He and Harry went clubbing, unfortunately not on the pull since they’ve got such an early start. Three hours’ worth of rubbing his dick against people—even Harry at one point, haha—is burning like a tease at his lower tummy. He strokes his thighs—the lace stockings are smooth under his fingertips—and pets his cock. He feels electric tonight, _The Neighbourhood_ tiptoeing through the wall from the speakers he left on, a slow rhythm exciting and cooling him at the same time, and he can’t remember the last instance quite like this – the last wank where he took his sweet, sweet time.

He feels the waves crest in their build-up, moaning lowly as he pumps his hips into his hand and comes. God, it’s fantastic. Niall is caught off-guard by his own body, lit on fire from the inside-out in the best way possible.

If anyone’d told Niall that this is how he’d blow off steam, he’d have laughed nervously.

But oh well.

It’s not the most shocking thing to happen to him.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The only downside is the _secrets._

Niall isn’t embarrassed. Anything is better than when Liam was going through something dark and scary, when he worked out so much that he forgot to drink and fainted right there in the gym just as Niall walked in. Turns out it’d been going on for days. He’d wake up on the bench and not remember collapsing on it, but he kept that wrapped up in his head until he’d been caught. Similar things have happened to the other boys and yet Liam’s always scared him the most, maybe because Niall was the first one to see it.

Niall wonders if that could’ve happened to him if Sophia’s things hadn’t ended up in his basket.

He considers telling them. He wouldn’t mind walking around in his kit if they’re in his hotel room, just so he can relax sooner, and he’s sure that they wouldn’t mind or care. However, one night turns that idea to dust in Niall’s mouth.

At a house party (a friend of Louis’), Niall is kissing a girl. Her name is Jamie, and she has red hair to her shoulders, loose curls that are soft under his fingers. She goes for his trousers, and _shit shit fucking **shit**_ , he’s wearing the stockings underneath.

“I’ll be right back,” he smiles, excusing himself to the bathroom. He strips off, tucks the pieces into his bum pocket, redresses, and figures he’s good to go. She’s just as eager as when he left her, so no harm done.

“C’n I go down on you?” he asks, a little bit lost for breath and _more_ than a little bit hard.

“Didn’t pick you for that kind of thing,” she grins, helping him lift her skirt. He touches her thighs (he knows it’s been too long when he misses the feeling of fabric that he gets when he’s touching himself) and kisses her breasts and her lips again before he pushes her knickers aside.

Jamie is noisy. Niall appreciates the indicators, finds that she likes it when he circles her clit rather than sucks right on it. She comes and follows it with, “Please, c’mon, you were so good.”

He likes that.

He pushes his trousers just past his arse and ruts into her carefully, determined to last though his body clearly wants anything but. Giving head has always got him so worked up, so he can’t help but go a little too quickly on Jamie.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she pants when he tries to go for her clit. “C’mon, love. You’ve done plenty well already.”

Niall tenses up and pushes in deep, coming with his mouth at her neck.

They grin at each other, and that’s nice, this is nice. The condom goes straight into the bin before he can remember to tie it off, and he half-buckles his belt before giving up, because hey, his fly’s done, and that’s enough for now.

“What’s this?”

Niall feels the gentle tug at his back pocket, and no, no, _no no no_ —

“Are these tights?” Jamie gasps, looking disgusted. “Have you nicked some poor bird’s tights?”

“No,” he insists.

“Then what the fuck are these?” She drops them like they’re ice.

“I—” The words are dying to be released into the world. Maybe it’ll be good to tell someone – to tell a stranger. “They’re mine.”

Those two words— _bloody fucking stupid words_ —burst out in a tangle, so at first Jamie’s face draws to confusion.

“They’re mine,” Niall repeats, softer. “Was wearing ’em under m’trousers. Went to take them off, ’s why I was gone.”

Jamie’s eyes are steely. “Prove it. Put them on.”

Niall chews his lip as he takes his trousers all the way off, socks and shoes going with them. The air boasts a stiff kind of silence even with the sharp bass drop of _Snap_ , drawn tighter than Jamie’s disbelieving frown, and it doesn’t feel good like the other times. Usually when he puts on his kit, he feels happy and bouncy, light as a feather, like he could melt into the settee or his bed just like that. Now it’s too mechanic.

“Oh my god.”

Niall’s head nearly snaps off his shoulders when he looks up.

“Oh my god,” she grins. “Ha! You look like one of ’em smack’ead prozzies from London!” Jamie is laughing, clearly oblivious to the sound of Niall’s heart breaking. Managing to gather her breath for a second—while Niall thinks _Fuck you fuck you fuck you_ —Jamie pushes out, “Is it a sex thing? Holy shit, I let you fuck me.”

With that sobered tone directed at herself, she has Niall on the verge of tearing up.

“I had sex with you, and you wear… Oh my god.” She starts to run her hands through her hair.

Jamie is still babbling and snorting when Niall tugs his clothes on and shoves his way out the door and into the living room, then onto the street. Zayn is there, sucking on a cigarette with a gaggle of people looking cool and maybe high.

“Niall.” Zayn strides over, looking concerned.

That makes him stop. Niall loves Zayn – _of course_ he does. But he can’t… He fucked up. He never should’ve showed anyone. He shouldn’t have even worn them tonight. Fuck, _buying them_ , let alone _wearing them_ , was the biggest fuck-up ever. He wants to cry.

“Niall,” Zayn repeats. “It’s only eleven. Y’alright?” He rests the back of his hand against Niall’s forehead. “Little bit warm.”

“I’m going to the hotel,” Niall tells him. He nods to Zayn’s group; “Go back to them.”

“I’m waiting for the car,” Zayn says. “Come with me.”

Niall had wanted his own car for once, so that he could wind up the window and cry, maybe question himself a thousand times over.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Niall shrugs, then coughs.

“Come on, here it is,” Zayn smiles kindly.

Though he tries, Zayn can’t pull more than a mumble from Niall. Dealing with Zayn’s small talk makes each heartbeat ten times louder in his head.

“Just tell me you’re okay,” Zayn whispers in the hallway, his hand holding Niall’s.

“I’m okay,” Niall lies.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The trousers fall to Niall’s feet like an anchor on a sinking ship.

His reflection doesn’t look how he remembers it. His knees are small yet jutting out of his skin, and his calves are too thin. He can usually hide them in jeans, but these stockings have no give or folds to hide his chicken legs.

That, and the unsightly bulge that looks like it has no place in a pair of knickers. He’d bought them because the front is opaque while the sides are lace, and he’d felt sexy when he put them on. He always feels sexy in them – except for now.

Now, he feels ugly and stupid and awkward. It’s not working.

_It’s not **working**._

Devastated, Niall tries to reignite the feelings he’s grown to rely on. He strokes his thighs, rubs his arse a little bit, but nothing. No flutters of warmth, no calm in his tummy. Just a weight that refuses to budge from the back of his throat.

He’s ruined it.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall knows that he doesn’t have a right to be angry.

He knew that one day he’d stop wearing them. He just thought that the time would come when he didn’t need them anymore – not when they simply wouldn’t _work_. When the other boys are yelling and messing around, he stays quiet, blending into the backstage workers with the camouflage of helpful hands and a big grin.

Thinking he’d done a good job of staying neutral on everyone’s radar, Niall is disappointed to find Zayn at his door later in the night. Usually, Niall would be in his kit by now, but— not today.

“Alright?” Zayn asks by way of greeting.

Niall tries to grin but his mouth feels like concrete, unforgiving as the smile he’s trying so hard for collapses into something that makes his cheeks ache. “Alright yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Zayn nods, shutting the door behind him. His hand drops from the doorknob to the small of Niall’s back. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching something.” Maybe it’ll be good to have some company. “Why?”

“Like, I think we should talk,” Zayn admits.

Oh.

Niall’s heart twists. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, just.” Zayn squeezes Niall’s shoulder. “Sit down w’me?”

Pulse teetering on the edge of frantic, Niall is guided—through a mix of ushering and manhandling—into Zayn’s lap. Zayn’s thighs radiate warmth through his jeans and onto Niall’s cheek, fingers tenderly slipping through Niall’s hair.

Niall stares at Zayn’s knees until he forgets to opens his eyes when he blinks. Curled up and under Zayn’s touch, he finds himself without thought, though not without the seemingly ever-present pinch of stress. He remembers the first time he did this—he had a lot of firsts with the lads, like the first time he fell asleep in a boy’s arms, or the first time he touched someone else’s dick (Harry’s – a total accident)—and thinking that he’d never been so close to anyone’s crotch before.

Now it’s a standard comfort position. He wonders what tipped Zayn off – how he got caught.

“Would you like to tell me what’s got you all quiet?” Zayn murmurs. He rubs his fingertips into the base of Niall’s scalp, pushing Niall’s mouth open to let out a little sigh.

“Juss’ not feeling the best.” Niall nuzzles into Zayn’s thigh.

“Liam says that he saw you goin’ into a room with a girl at the party,” Zayn says softly. “Did something happen with her? Did she say something to you?”

Zayn’s fingers push under the collar of Niall’s tee shirt, massaging his back in pressured circles.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks. Niall nods. “C’n you tell me?”

“No,” Niall mumbles.

“Why not?” he frowns. His fingertips find a knot, pressing around it even as Niall winces.

“B’cause it doesn’t matter,” Niall says firmly, getting to his feet with the knot still aching since Zayn irritated it.

“I think it does, Niall,” Zayn shrugs. “Like, whatever she’s done… It shouldn’t be fucking with you like this. ’S why we should like, talk about it.”

In a split-second of anger and self-pity, Niall spits out, “Zayn, it wasn’t her, alright? It was me. Totally me. _I_ fucked m’self over, alright? _I_ did it. I fucked m’own shite up for no fucking reason.” He takes three bites of air, pushes them out shakily. “Leave me alone for two bloody seconds, could you? I don’t have to explain m’self to everyone just because you asked.”

“Tell me what happened,” Zayn insists again. “If you tell me, I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

Beneath the surface layer of defence, Niall gets a punch of shame in his gut that’s different from what’s been mixing with the shame he already has. He lashed out at Zayn. What the fuck is wrong with him? Zayn is cool as ever, blinking slowly and looking unaffected, but Niall feels that if he owes Zayn one thing, it’s the truth. That, and he feels destructive, like defying something. He can distantly hear Harry whisper, “ _Gender roles_.”

“I… Okay,” he sighs. The breath he takes feels inadequate and empty, so he takes another, and then picks up his inhaler from the table. Zayn waits patiently on the settee, gaze lazily tracing the room like he actually cares about the ceiling or the carpet. Niall takes two puffs before he lowers his hand, nervously clutching the inhaler. “You can’t…” he starts, only to backtrack when he realises that Zayn _can_ , and probably _will_ — “Please don’t laugh.”

“I won’t laugh,” Zayn assures him, wide-eyed and soft-voiced.

Niall nods. He’s wearing them now—God knows why—so all he has to do is drop his trousers. He starts undoing his belt.

“Is it… Is something wrong with your…” Zayn trails off. Then his confused brows shoot straight up, and he whispers, “Did she give you an STI, Niall? Like, herpes an’ that?”

“What? No,” Niall frowns.

“Oh.” Zayn swallows. “That’s good, I s’pose.”

“Yeah,” and Niall actually manages to smile a little before it drops off his face. He hesitates at the button, already envisioning the trousers as he slides them down his legs and to the floor, how the first thing Zayn sees will be the thong. “Wait here.”

He stalls in his room, pulling out several vest tops until he finds one that covers to at least halfway down his arse. It’s white, unlike the rest of his kit which is black, oh God. Even with the shorts on, he looks like a girl from an Abercrombie photoshoot.

“Fuck,” he bites as he holds the doorknob, counting the seconds till his face doesn’t feel quite so hot.

It’s the heaviest door he’s ever had to open, and when he manages to slip through, Zayn’s eyes latch onto him like he’s a fire. There’s a moment where Niall thinks he’s going to break into uncontrollable giggles as he watches Zayn drink in the sight, but he’s frozen up.

Zayn finally blinks, licks his lips.

“Definitely not an STI,” he murmurs. “Did she… What’s this, then?”

Niall doesn’t know how to give a real answer. “It’s what I did when I was stressed, and then I started doing it when I wasn’t,” he says. “I like them.”

“They look good,” Zayn says.

Scrubbing at the short bits of his hair with his fingers, Niall holds the hem of his vest down.

“Did that girl laugh at you?” Zayn asks.

Niall’s ears pick up her voice like an echo, every word recited since that night, known so well that he could present them to his Year 5 class at primary.

“Niall?”

“Yeah,” Niall answers in a slow breath. “She said that I look like a… prostitute.”

“That’s horrible,” Zayn scowls, his face scrunching with disgust. “What a nasty— Christ, what a piece of shit.”

The thick bulge clogging Niall’s throat tells him that if he tries to talk, all that will come out is tears, so he keeps his mouth shut. Zayn’s expression softens.

“Is that why you… You shut down on us, like.” Zayn shakes his head and stands. “Harry thought you were depressed, or you read something shitty online. Like, we didn’t know—”

“You can’t tell them,” Niall jabs in, finding his voice instantly. “Y’can’t, Zayn. Please.”

Of all the complete bullshite smeared over the past week, the one thing Niall still has is his privacy. He still has this secret, and he can’t let that go, not like this.

Zayn looks unsure, but Niall’s eyebrows scrunch in and his tone is hard; “I trusted you with this. Don’t fuck me over.”

“Alright, I won’t.” Zayn’s gaze falls to the stockings again. He tips his head thoughtfully. “She was wrong. They look good on you.”

“Thanks,” Niall mumbles, but the corners of his lips pick up.

Zayn smiles back, relieved. “And you do this to relax? What, like, do you wear them around your room?”

“And under my clothes, sometimes,” Niall admits.

“Shit,” Zayn says. “Never even noticed.” His eyes go big and earnest again. “Do you want to hang out, now? Let’s watch a film. You can stay in that if you like.”

“Okay,” Niall nods.

“Yeah?” Zayn grins. “Sick. I’ll get a DVD.”

He takes ten minutes to pick a film, but once he’s back, Niall’s life stops flashing before his eyes.

“I love you,” Zayn says meaningfully when he goes to leave.

“Yeah, love you too,” Niall nods.

Jamie ruined this; Zayn fixed it; Niall feels comfortable in his skin again.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

They do that for a while; if it’s just them on a bus, or it’s a hotel night, Niall puts on his stockings, knickers, and shorts, with an oversized top or jumper, and they do what they’d normally do.

And it’s not weird, to start off with.

Then the glances start, and soon they drag into stares. Niall sees Zayn in the reflection of the telly when he gets up to put a disc in, eyes trained on Niall’s legs. Niall lets it burn down to curiosity at first, but then Zayn stares at his lap when they’re side-by-side, or turns around when Niall walks past so he can watch.

(Niall starts wanking with the kit on again, after Zayn’s gone back to his own room. He nearly always thinks about Zayn, even though he shouldn’t.)

And Zayn keeps ogling him, and sometimes he blushes when he’s caught, and sometimes he just looks away.

2013, and Niall’s crush of three years is making him feel like a freak all over again.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Two weeks after Niall told Zayn his big secret, he slips a pair of skinny jeans over his stockings and knickers. It gives him a thrill, that smugness of eating dinner with the lads and him knowing something they don’t. Ever since he started wearing them during concerts and meet-and-greets, he’s recognised the appeal of Louis’ gossip sessions with Harry and Lou. It’s an amazing feeling.

Zayn notices that Niall doesn’t get changed when they enter Niall’s room later. He doesn’t give away his disappointment with his words, accidentally letting it show in his slight pout and narrowed eyes. Niall gets a tight wire in his stomach, because maybe if Zayn didn’t treat him like a fucking weirdo, he wouldn’t have to cover up.

Just as they’re about to watch _Iron Man_ , Zayn finally asks, “Why aren’t you wearing ’em?” like he’s trying to hide the question in his voice, like he doesn’t care either way.

There’s a pause and a _whoosh_ sound as all Niall’s prepared answers fly out the window. He knew Zayn would say something. “I am, underneath,” he says carefully, weighing his words.

“Why the trousers, then? You know I don’t mind, Niall,” Zayn frowns.

Shrugging, Niall’s fingers knot together. His nails are stubby but his mind flicks back to the racks of nail polishes in a shop they went to, wondering if he could pull off black. “You stare a lot, so I thought…” He crosses his arms instead, leaning against the back of the settee. “You don’t need to see me like that if you think it’s weird.”

“Oh, god,” Zayn sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, like, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s okay,” Niall says. “It’s not everyone’s thing.”

Zayn sobers up from his moment of embarrassment in a shocking instant, his face changing so fast it nearly gives Niall whiplash. “Pardon?”

Niall tries for a grin. “It’s okay if you’re not up for seeing my weedy pins in tights, is what I’m saying.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, then swallows. He stands up, takes a step towards Niall like his legs are in need of oiling.

“What?” Niall frowns.

“I’m not— Fuck, Niall. It’s not weird,” Zayn argues. “That’s not it at all.”

Niall can’t talk, can’t make the words he needs to answer Zayn’s pleading look.

“I’ve been staring because… you’re bloody gorgeous,” Zayn says, moving closer, his hands holding Niall’s jaw. “She was wrong, or blind, or both. You look so good, like, I’ve— I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

It’s the most wonderful slap in the face, those words. Niall’s heart picks up from trot to gallop. “Do it,” he says, shocked by his own demand. “Now. Please.”

His thoughts are going too fast for his ears to keep up, but Zayn’s mouth is warm and welcoming, his soft lips working with Niall’s to slip his tongue over Niall’s teeth. Niall wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist, he has to keep him close, can’t let him get away—

Zayn seems to have the same idea, since his hands go one to Niall’s back and the others to his arse, cupping the curve where his bum meets his thighs. Niall almost swallows his own tongue. This is happening. Zayn is being so smooth and gentle, and he smells great, tastes even better, and Niall wants him to see the whole deal.

He realises quickly that Zayn is getting hard, because when Zayn shifts, the thick ridge along his fly starts making its way towards his hip instead, and Zayn is breathing heavily through his nose. He’s getting distracted when he kisses, so Niall tips his chin up, inviting Zayn to his neck. Zayn pushes him to rest his weight on the sofa, allowing Niall to open his legs.

“Can I see?” Zayn mouths against his ear, fingers catching on Niall’s belt. “All of it, this time?”

“Of course,” Niall grins, hips tilting up when Zayn starts to unzip his fly.

The sweep of his trousers being tugged to his knees makes sparks bloom in Niall’s chest. With a quiet laugh between them as he pulls his feet from the puddle of denim, Niall sees that Zayn is on his knees, helping.

“Sick,” he grins. “Love this pair.” Zayn’s eyelashes fall over his eyes as he leans in to raise the hem of Niall’s vest top. He keeps them closed as he kisses up Niall’s stomach, revealing his skin inch by inch until his hands are at Niall’s collarbone, and then the collar gets snagged on Niall’s ear, the laughter that follows a reminder of three years of memories, three years of wanting. “Did you pick these clothes from the chastity section?”

“No,” Niall grins. He pulls in for another kiss, melting into the warm hands on his naked skin like ice with fire.

Zayn breaks away to look down. His grip tenses on Niall’s waist, needy. “I didn’t know,” he starts. “I didn’t know you were like, in full gear.”

They’re the lace knickers, black garters—that have little bundles of red ribbon to look like roses—clipped onto his stockings. Zayn’s tongue peeking out to wet his lips tells Niall that he made a great choice.

“Just want to see you spread out on the bed,” Zayn admits, pushing his hips in close so that Niall can feel his cock.

“Haven’t been fucked in _forever_ ,” Niall shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m up for it.”

(Harry would appreciate the pun, because Niall is definitely _up_ for anything. Haha.)

Zayn has to save Niall from tumbling backwards when his balance is offset, but Niall’s always felt that hiccups make sex more fun – and that’s a bizarre thought, even as they make their way to his room. He’s going to have sex with Zayn.

“How long’ve you wanted this?” Niall asks from the bed, watching Zayn palm himself and lock the door.

“Niall,” Zayn sighs, grinning. It’s different from every single other time he’s said it, something that Niall has to lock away in his chest and keep forever. Zayn fits himself between Niall’s legs, leans into Niall’s neck and says, “ _Years_.”

“Even before I put on the stockings?” Niall teases.

“Maybe,” Zayn smirks. “Are you good to go? Do you have stuff?”

“In my bag,” Niall says, fiddling with the buckle of Zayn’s belt. The loop is wide enough to get his fly unzipped, exposing the full, thick bulge of his cock, the tip jutting up and held down by Zayn’s briefs.

Zayn’s voice is becoming dark chocolate, throaty and quiet. “You should get on top. I think you’d look best riding my fingers.” He whispers the last three words, separating the sentence into parts even as Niall tightens his thighs on Zayn’s waist and grinds his hips up. The moment Niall stands, he instantly regrets not putting his toiletry bag in the bedside table.

Stretched out with half-hooded eyes, Zayn looks easy and relaxed, lips tipped up at the right. Niall sees him take a few slow, lazy pulls at his dick. He sits up against the headboard as Niall slips his knickers down, enough to have them out of the way, not so much that he can’t straddle Zayn’s lap with them still on.

“Not much left. Have you been fingering yourself off?” Zayn takes the tube, pushing a thick stripe onto his finger.

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “It feels good.”

“I’ve heard,” Zayn nods. His hand fits between Niall’s legs, wrist brushing the underside of his bollocks. “You want this?”

“Yeah.” Niall lowers himself that half-inch, Zayn’s fingers running up his thigh. Zayn’s fingertip is pressing just shy of his hole, and Niall is so eager, so hard, so _ready_. He needs something to ward off the need but also to keep hard, so he curls a fist around his own cock, gasp pressed into Zayn’s bottom lip.

“Haven’t even put one in, yet,” Zayn murmurs smugly between kisses.

“So hurry up, you fuckin’ tit,” Niall groans.

Zayn’s been gently nudging against Niall’s rim for either a hundred or a thousand years – either way, too long. Niall sighs at the first poke of intrusion, the warm burn that starts to tease his cock with the promise of _more_. Zayn works his slick middle finger right inside with his tongue following the line of his upper lip. Niall catches the movement from under his eyelashes as he grinds against Zayn’s hand, hoping for another.

“Mm,” he moans softly on Zayn’s jaw.

“Bet y’can be louder than that,” Zayn says. “I can’t wait to fuck some real noise out of you.”

“Shit,” Niall hisses.

“Oh.” Zayn rubs just short of where Niall needs, the spike of sensitivity nothing compared to what it _could_ be. Niall slips his hand over Zayn’s and pushes till he gets the angle right. “S’at how you like it?”

“Fuckin’ right,” Niall smirks, shifting his hips. “Another, c’mon, or I’m’na get off like this.”

“Bossy,” Zayn grumbles, pushing another fingertip up beside the first, mouth going soft. Niall has a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, another on Zayn’s cock, and his rhythm jumps when a third finger opens him up some more.

Niall wants to remember this forever – the tender gasp from Zayn, the warmth and shine to his eyes, how his fingers jerk forward when Niall thumbs his cockhead. But most of all he wants to keep the softness of his smile, and the nice little words he whispers, like, “ _Beautiful_ ,” and “ _Like that? That feel good?_ ”

Fingers too eager to be messy, Niall unbuttons Zayn’s top, licks up his neck because he wants to remember the taste, too. Zayn grins against Niall’s mouth as he shucks off the shirt, sighs when Niall rolls the condom on, _moans_ at the first brief touch of his cock to Niall’s hole.

“Take your time,” Zayn chokes out, his tip snug past Niall’s rim.

Niall groans and relaxes enough to let a little more in, his pace wavering as he gets his bearings. _Shit_. He hasn’t bottomed since early on, before they were so big that it was a rule that he couldn’t fuck men anymore.

“’S like riding a bike,” he thinks aloud.

“ _Riding_ ,” Zayn repeats.

They spare a loud laugh even as Niall settles all the way down, Zayn’s breathy chuckles still hot on his cheek as he shifts. His knees are in no shape to bounce like he wants to, but an inch up and down is doing the job, and _fuck_ , it feels just as good as he remembers, the angle spot-on when he finds it.

Niall looks up. A soft glow lines Zayn’s brow, upper lip, and cheekbones, and his hair is fraying from its quiff. Niall pushes a hand through the longer bits, holds them tightly between his fingers, and uses the handful to tug Zayn forward for a long, heated snog. They spend half of it breathing too hard and the other half making little _uh_ , _uh_ sounds. Every push _in_ reignites the burn Niall needs to get himself that much closer, accompanied by a dull ache. Ugh.

“M’knees hurt,” Niall admits. He thought he could work through it but he _can’t_ no matter how much he wants to.

“That’s okay,” Zayn says, breathlessly reassuring. Niall sees him worry his bottom lip as he moves off and to the side.

There’s a minute where Zayn’s not inside him because he’s removing his trousers and briefs, where Niall gets a sudden blow of feelings that aren’t purely physical. This is _Zayn_ —his best friend in the whole world—but do they want the same thing? He whines low from his chest and Zayn mistakes it for a sound of want, since he apologises quietly and kisses the insides of Niall’s knees.

“Need’ta last,” he explains with a small smile, lips so close to Niall’s cock. He sucks carefully while Niall’s eyes roll back, fever rising in his chest. Even now, Zayn is gentle. His tongue laps at the tip and Niall can’t watch anymore without a timid worry that he’ll come like this.

This may never happen again.

“Can’t believe I’ve never seen these before,” Zayn whispers, pulling at Niall with a tight grip. “We have to do it slower next time. I’m going to pull your knickers down with my teeth.”

Or… it could.

Niall sees stars, and by the time they’ve cleared, Zayn’s face has replaced the shock of white as he leans in for another kiss. His hands slide underneath Niall’s thighs and push them up like he’s too turned on to treat Niall like porcelain anymore.

He fucks him carefully to start with, but when Niall digs his stupidly short fingernails into Zayn’s arse and demands he go _faster_ and _rougher_ and _please, please_ , Zayn adjusts his hips and ruts in. Niall begins to babble, his ankles moved onto Zayn’s shoulders. He sees how Zayn’s staring at them, how the breaths he’s taking are strained, and it’s so— it’s so fucking _incredible_ , and Niall is so lucky, so overwhelmingly grateful and happy.

“Shit,” Zayn gasps. “Please tell me you’re nearly—”

“Nearly,” Niall promises, rubbing just the tip. The next word gets caught in his throat, no hope left for even thirty seconds more.

It’s really intense, his eyes squeezed shut with the hot pulses shocking his body like nothing else, _fuck_. Zayn doesn’t even bother pretending he’s not completely wrecked, and soon enough he pulls out, the condom sagging with his come.

“Oh my god,” he pants, falling to his front once he’s chucked the condom in the bin. He’s shiny down his back as well.

“Mm,” Niall agrees. He peels the stockings off, picks the garters from their hooks. He keeps the knickers on.

“I’m going to stay the night here, if that’s okay,” Zayn smiles.

“Definitely,” Niall grins.

They lift the covers and snuggle in together. Zayn’s chest is warm, a bit clammy, but Niall can’t bear to let him go. Tonight is one he needs to keep intact for as long as possible.

2013, 1am on a Tuesday, and Zayn whispers to Niall, “I love you.”

“I know,” Niall mumbles into his chest.

“No, Niall,” Zayn breathes. His brows are raised and pinched in, concerned. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” Niall asks, because he doesn’t have room for uncertainties. Three years he’s been waiting – he has to be _sure_.

“Different like.” Zayn huffs a little sigh. “I _want_ you. I’m— I think I’m a little bit in love with you.”

2013 and Niall’s heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” he breathes, hopeful. “Same, Zayn.”

2013 is a great year.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Neighbourhood's _Flawless_.
> 
> (Thirdly, I am one of those vain people who puts makeup on when they're stressed. If I'm freaking out and need to skive off for wind-down time, I will happily sit in front of my mirror testing out my lipsticks, eyeshadows, and eyeliners, and eventually emerge from my dragqueen-inspired Cocoon of Soothing Things all refreshed and a lot calmer. So I really like those fics where someone puts on a corset and heels to get out of their head for a while, because I can totally relate to that. I just thought I'd give it a go.)
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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